Can't Get There from Here (5 page)

We’d seen OG and Country Club around but never talked to them. They were older and crusty and stuck to themselves. Anyway, I was next to Rainbow, sipping my coffee, when out of the dark came Maggot carrying a green Army-surplus backpack. He stopped on the sidewalk, sort of halfway between OG and Country Club and Rainbow and me.

“You guys have a place to stay tonight?” He swiveled his head from Rainbow and me to OG and Country Club. I guess he thought we were all together.

“You’re lookin’ at it,” OG said.

“Mind if I hang with you?” Maggot asked.

“Be our guest,” said Country Club.

So Maggot sat down between Rainbow and me and OG and Country Club. He started asking us questions, like where we were from and how long we’d been living on the streets. From then on we started hanging together. A few weeks later Rainbow ran into 2Moro and Jewel at the clinic, and they started hanging with us, too.

And now it was winter, and we were sort of like a family, or maybe a tribe. An asphalt tribe that roamed
the streets searching for food and shelter. We watched out for each other, cared about each other. Country Club was gone, but the rest of us stuck together.

The next day the sun came out. People were wearing sweaters or open jackets.

“It’s a perfect day to sell some Ecstasy,” Maggot announced. “Anyone want to come?”

“Can we buy some medicine for my stomach?” I asked. It was hurting again.

“Sure, Maybe, we’ll get you anything you want.”

Maggot and Tears and me walked over to Tompkins Square Park. The sun was slanting toward the west giving the dark leafless trees long shadows, so it was probably late afternoon. The park was surrounded by a black metal fence that came up to my chin. The police locked it at midnight but people could still climb over. The metal gates were open now. Inside, wooden benches lined the asphalt walkways. Since it was a warm, sunny day for winter, a lot of people came outside to sit and feel the sun. Old ladies in shawls sat next to Goths wearing black lipstick and eye shadow. An old man wearing a gray hat threw bread crumbs to a flock of cooing pigeons that scrambled around at his feet. Other men sat at small square concrete tables and played chess. Young couples pushed babies in strollers and walked dogs. An artist with big pieces of chalk sketched a big painting on the asphalt playground. A policeman on a bicycle rode by.

Tears and I sat down on a bench while Maggot went off to sell.

“What’s Ecstasy?” Tears asked.

I tried not to stare at her. Sometimes it was hard to believe how innocent she was. Who didn’t know about Ecstasy?

“What was the name of the place you come from?” I asked.

“Hundred,” she answered.

“You sure it’s not Million?” I teased. “Like a million miles from anywhere?”

Tears pursed her lips like I’d hurt her feelings.

I rubbed my shoulder against hers. “Hey, I’m just kidding. Ecstasy is a club drug. It makes people happy.”

“Is it against the law?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t Maggot get in trouble if the police catch him?”

“He’s not selling real Ecstasy,” I said.

Tears scowled but didn’t ask anything more.

We heard a scratching sound. “Up there.” Tears pointed at a tree overhead. A small gray squirrel was scrambling up the trunk. When it got to the top branches it let out a long, mournful cry and then started back down.

“I think it’s looking for its mommy,” Tears said.

The little squirrel reached the ground, then started up the next tree. Tears and I watched as it got to the top and let out another mournful cry. Animals may all sound different, but you always know when they’re crying.

“That’s sad,” Tears said.

The sun dipped lower. The shadows of buildings spread over us like a cold gray blanket. I started to shiver.
Tears pulled her bulky brown coat tight around her neck. “What’s taking Maggot so long?” she asked.

I shrugged. Across the walk the little squirrel started up another tree.

“It already went up that tree,” Tears said.

“Maybe it doesn’t know what else to do,” I said.

Maggot trotted down the path, laughing. “Come on, we better get out of here.”

We got up and followed him out of the park. On the way Maggot told us he sold aspirin to some tourists for sixty dollars.

“They think they bought Ecstasy.” He chuckled. “They’re going clubbing tonight. At least they won’t have to worry about getting a headache.”

He stopped talking and slowed down. We were on the sidewalk now. Up ahead a bunch of kids with tattoos and piercings were hanging out on the corner. Some of them were the kids I’d seen with Rainbow the previous night. I hoped she was there.

“Hey, look, it’s Lost,” Maggot said. “He’s always got roofies.”

Maggot went to talk to the one named Lost, the one with the orange-tipped Mohawk that I’d seen the night before. I looked for Rainbow.

“Lookin’ for your girlfriend?” one of the other boys asked me. He had long light-brown dreadlocks and a horseshoe-shaped bar through his nose.

“Maybe,” I said.

“You got some more money for her?” He held out his
hand. The fingernails were long and had black crescents of dirt under them. “You can give it to me. I’ll see her later and give it to her.”

I backed away. Maggot and Lost had their hands in their pockets. Maggot pulled out a bunch of bills and gave them to Lost, who handed him a plastic baggie filled with pills.

“Uh-oh,” said the boy with the dirty fingernails. “Now that Maggot’s got them roofies, your girlfriend’s gonna like him more than you.”

I didn’t like what he was saying, and I didn’t want to stay there. Maggot put the baggie in his pocket and came back to Tears and me. “Come on, let’s go.” We started to walk. “I’ll say this for capitalism,” Maggot said. “It’s a great system if you know how to manipulate it. You start with about twenty-five cents’ worth of aspirin and convert that into sixty bucks worth of roofies that I’ll sell at The Cradle tonight for a hundred and eighty.”

“You can’t get into The Cradle,” Tears said. “It’s the hottest club in the world.”

Maggot patted his pocket. “I can with these.”

“What about the medicine for my stomach?” I asked.

“Aw, crap.” Maggot’s shoulders slumped. “I forgot. I’m sorry, Maybe. All I have now are these roofies. But I’ll sell them tonight and tomorrow I’ll have plenty of money, okay? We’ll get you that medicine then.”

My stomach hurt bad. I thought about that little squirrel climbing tree after tree and crying. Bet his stomach hurt, too.

“I’m so gross! I’m disgusting! I cant stand
it!” Rainbow laughed crazily as she pulled me down the sidewalk about a block from Canal Street.

“You look beautiful to me,” I said.

“Oh, Maybe, what would you know? You’re even smellier and dirtier than me.”

“I am?” Even though I knew that all of us street kids were dirty and smelly, it still made me feel bad to hear Rainbow say it. That wasn’t the way I wanted her to think of me.

“Aw, look, I hurt your feelings.” Rainbow stuck out her lower lip and pouted. “I’m sorry, Maybe. But I’m dirty and smelly, too. We’re the dirty and smelly twins!” She hooked her arm through mine and started to skip. I tried to keep up with her. It made me happy when she wanted to be with me. Then she let go and did a cartwheel right in the middle of the sidewalk. The regular people looked at her like she was psycho.

“What?” she dusted off her hands and yelled at them. “You never saw someone do a cartwheel before?”

The regular people cut a wide circle around her and didn’t answer.

“Jerks,” Rainbow muttered.

“Where did you go this morning?” I asked. She usually didn’t get up until the afternoon, but that day she was gone early.

“2Moro and I went to the clinic for our meds,” she said in a singsong voice. “I got Ritalin and Welbutrin. I’m ADD and bipolar and OCD and XYZ. And know what happens if I take it all at once? I’m off my tree!” She ran toward a light pole, grabbed it, and swung around. Then she came back, panting for breath. “Come on, Maybe, let’s get ourselves cleaned up.”

“Where?”

“There.” Rainbow pointed at a low building. The reddish-brown bricks were covered with a layer of gray grime, but the big windows in front were clear and clean. Inside, people sat at rows of computers. Beyond them were lots of shelves filled with books.

“It’s a library,” I realized.

“There’s no getting anything past you, Maybe.” Rainbow started up the steps toward the doors.

“You sure we’re allowed?” I asked.

“It’s open to the public. Just like the bus station.”

“Don’t you need a card?”

“Only if you want to take books out,” she said and pushed on the door. We went in and through a kind of metal detector. Some grown men and women stood behind a wooden counter with computers and stacks of books on it. They wore plastic photo IDs and gave us unfriendly looks. A woman in a blue dress wrinkled her nose and fanned her face with her hand as if we smelled bad.

We passed the tables with the computers on them. All kinds of people were sitting there. Old men, mothers with babies on their laps, kids. A tall thin man with a photo ID and short, curly reddish hair walked around behind the computers and talked to anyone who needed help. I stopped and stared. He had a broad, flat nose and patchy skin like mine. Only the patches with pigment were lighter and spotted with reddish freckles. He was wearing neatly pressed khaki slacks and a blue shirt. Over the shirt he wore a brown sweater with buttons down the front.

“Come on, it’s probably over this way.” Rainbow tugged at my sleeve and led me past the shelves of books toward the back where the bathrooms were. We went into the women’s room.

“Down here.” Rainbow held open the door to the big handicapped stall at the end of the bathroom. I went in and Rainbow slid the latch closed. She took off her leather jacket and hung it on the hook inside the door. Then she started to take off her clothes and put them on the toilet seat. Her arms and legs were covered with those long thin scars and scabs. I knew she cut herself, but I’d never seen her do it. She saw me looking.

“Sorry,” I said and looked away.

She glanced down at herself and then back at me. “What are you waiting for?”

Feeling shy, I slowly stripped off my clothes and put them on the toilet seat with Rainbow’s. It was chilly in the bathroom, and I felt goose bumps rise on my skin. It
felt strange and frightening to be naked in a public place. But also a little daring and exciting.

Now it was Rainbow’s turn to stare at me. I looked down at myself. My whole body was covered with light and dark patches. “I’m ugly.”

Rainbow pursed her lips and frowned. “No. Just different.” She went to the stall door and undid the latch. “Ready?”

“Uh-huh.”

We scampered over to the row of sinks and mirrors, took brown paper towels from the dispenser and wet them with hot water from the faucet. Then we squeezed the pink liquid soap onto them and ran back to the stall. Rainbow closed the latch and we soaped ourselves down. The warm sudsy paper towels felt good on my skin except for the places where I had sores that stung from the soap. I rubbed the towels down my arms and was shocked to see how much lighter the skin became.

“Surprised?” Rainbow asked.

“I didn’t know how dirty I was,” I answered.

She laughed. Mud-colored water dripped from our elbows and ran down our legs. Soon the tile floor in the stall was covered with soggy, filthy paper towels. Our bodies were streaked with suds and dirt. We left the stall again. Back at the sinks I held down the hot- and cold-water knobs while Rainbow washed her hair under the faucet, using the pink liquid soap. Brown water disappeared down the drain. Then she held the knobs down for me while I washed my hair. The counter and floor
around the sinks grew slippery, and our wet, soapy feet slid on the smooth tile floor.

“Shouldn’t we go back to the stall?” I asked when I finished washing my hair. The hot water felt good as it dripped down onto my shoulders and arms.

“It’s too slippery,” Rainbow said. “And the towels get cold. Let’s stay here. Do my back?”

She turned around and I started to scrub her back with a soapy paper towel. Rainbow’s pale skin turned pink as I washed her. I didn’t ask about the green, brown, and yellow bruises on her arms and legs and sides.

“Now mine?” I asked when I finished her back. I leaned over a sink and put my elbows on the counter and waited to feel the hot towels. Nothing happened. I looked over my shoulder. Rainbow was staring at my back.

“An iron?” Her voice was soft.

I nodded.

“Lord,” she muttered. A moment later I felt hot water run down my sides as Rainbow rubbed the soapy paper towels against my back. The water tickled when it dripped down the insides of my naked legs. It felt good to have someone wash me. I closed my eyes and remembered when I was little, sitting in the old metal washtub in the trailer kitchen, my mom pouring hot water on my shoulders from a pitcher, then washing my back with a washcloth. Her soft, soothing voice. The perfumed smell of the soap. The toy boat and the little black-and-white windup orca that would slap its tail and bump its nose against the sides of the tub …

The bathroom door squeaked. Rainbow and me looked up. A woman came in with a little girl, maybe four or five years old. The little girl’s hair was braided into pigtails and she was wearing a pink sweatshirt that said Princess in glittering silver letters, and jeans and white tennis shoes with pink laces. She was so perfect. So clean and her clothes so neat and new. Even when I lived with my mom I never was that neat and clean.

The woman gasped and the little girl stared with bulging eyes. Without a word the woman pulled her out of the bathroom.

“We better go.” Rainbow’s voice turned serious. Leaning over the sinks we began to rinse the soap off our heads and bodies. Water splashed all over the counter. We started to dry ourselves. The coarse towels were rough against our skin. A few of the scabs on Rainbow’s arms and legs got rubbed away and started to bleed a little, but she didn’t seem to care. I looked at myself in the water-splattered mirror. I was someone with curly brown matted-down wet hair. Someone whose skin was pale pink in some places and splotchy brown in others. So thin her ribs and collarbone stuck out. Shoulders and arms angular and bony. Almost like a picture of a starving African child you’d see in a magazine.